


The Slut I'll Make of You

by MJRen



Category: Adam Driver - Fandom, Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cream Pie, Degradation, F/M, Fingering, Fluff if you blink, Loss of Virginity, Male Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn with a smidge of plot, Reader is in her early 20s, Smut, i know nothing about wine please do not question my one reference, innocence kink, left semi open if the people want more, tiddy sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MJRen/pseuds/MJRen
Summary: Charlie hummed from the depths of his chest, gravel vibrating against your skin. His hold diminished until all he held of you was one trembling, terrified hand.“Do you touch yourself? When you’re alone?”A silentno, your bottom lip quivering.The hinge of his jaw fluttered, a nod of understanding, a darkness claiming his eyes. Low and restrained, he wondered aloud, “You’ve never cum before, have you?”
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	The Slut I'll Make of You

_“Dinner at my place. Tonight.”_

It had not been a question. Charlie Barber knew what he wanted and seemed to have a knack for getting it. This was one of the many traits you found attractive about him, how he did not allow the opportunity to refuse his requests. It made his decisions feel like your own, like a simple _“Okay,”_ in response made it so the plans were yours to begin with.

It made you feel strange in the best ways, your body reacting to the way his voice seemed lower, how there was a command you had not noticed before. A warm thrill dizzied your head, your throat thickening.

This was only a dinner. Nothing you had not shared with him before. But something tightened deep within, a physical yearn you could not pinpoint. Not unpleasant at all, but strange. An anticipation you did not understand.

The feeling stayed with you during your preparation, your heart racing faster as the minutes passed by. When you stood in front of Charlie’s apartment door, wine bottle in hand, you figured you were just excited to see him. That made sense, of course. And he’d worn your favorite blue button up during rehearsal today – you’d barely been able to concentrate on anything beyond the way his muscled arms flexed beneath it – so that was probably the culprit for this new knot in your throat.

But, then again, remembering his eyes just before he’d instructed you to meet him, that feeling grew all the more. He just seemed so different today, like he knew something more than you, like he wanted you in ways beyond your comprehension.

Heavy, slow footfalls came from beyond the door, a _jangle_ and a _click_ before it revealed your date. And that feeling turned into an ache, nearing insufferable the more you took him in.

Charlie still wore that blue button up, but more of his chest peaked out from the top, three buttons slack to reveal the shadowed contour of his breastbone. The light behind him was dim, casting deep shadows along the notch of his throat, the divot below his full bottom lip fluttering when he smirked down at you.

His sleeves, rolled to the bend of his arm, tightened over his biceps when he crossed his forearms to his chest. The light fabric clung to his obliques when he leaned against the doorframe, his gaze traveling over your figure – first to your lips, and then to your hands, and lower, _lower_ yet. You had not realized, but your lips were parted, his physique claiming every faction of your focus.

He caught you fawning at him, your eyes jolting to his when he said, “You didn’t have to bring me anything.” A wry grin lifted the corner of his mouth, your features basking in his gaze. “Your company is more than enough.” He spoke with that tone from before, a measure softer, but still drowned in confidence.

That knot in your throat swelled, breath framing your next words. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

Without either of you taking your eyes from the other, you transferred the wine from your grasp to his. His fingers lingered over yours a moment out of pace, grazing the soft skin there. You swallowed, newly nervous to pass his threshold. He kept looking at you, a long drawl of breath twitched at his nostrils while he studied you.

He wrapped his hand around the bottleneck and brushed his thumb against the cork, still taking you in. “Come in.” Charlie wet his lips. “I’ll take your coat.”

He held the door and let you pass by, the bottle clunking down on his credenza before the door clicked shut. It was warm, candles lit on the table, soft piano notes lulling from a speaker. Two plates were made up, wine glasses empty and waiting before them. It smelled amazing, something simple yet well-seasoned; it would pair well with the sauvignon blanc you brought. The light was soft, and your back was to him, so you allowed yourself a private smile; his efforts had not gone unnoticed. This was very nice.

“It smells amazing, Charlie.”

He hummed in response, a light sound that rumbled through him when long, rough fingers brushed over your clavicle. The tips of his ring fingers skimmed the tops of your breasts, breath catching at the sensation. He – _no one_ had ever touched you there, especially not how he let his hands rest for a moment before catching your coat and slipping it off. The maneuver was slow, still, and when you felt the warm fog of his breath cascade over the shell of your ear – you could barely contain the shiver that sparkled along your spine.

“Family recipe,” his nose skimmed the line of your jaw, “top secret.”

You were stiff as a board, his heat sinking into your back, his proximity clouding your brain. He was entirely too gorgeous, and that much more tall and sculpted, and you had been flirting with each other for the better part of two months. Stolen glimpses here, innocent touches there; on occasion you would tuck pieces of stray hair back into place – Charlie would always still at that. It was your favorite thing to watch: his cheeks slightly pink when you permitted yourself to savor the feel of his soft tresses. Come to think of it, you’d done exactly that just before he invited you here.

Charlie led a hand down your arm when he walked past you, long strides leading him so he could pull out your chair. He collected your wine and replaced one he’d set out, leaning at your side to fill your glass before sitting and filling his own.

The candle flickered between you, shadows dancing over each plane of his face with a grace that seemed almost intentional. Here, as you shared the meal he prepared – which ended up pairing delightfully with the impromptu wine – you felt those earlier nerves slip into something less sharp, every lighthearted story he shared about his past week worked to put you at ease. And the glass slowly emptying with each sip you took.

Being honest with yourself, Charlie was almost twice your age, and you’d always felt _whatever_ it was between you would never amount to anything, not even a quaint date like this. He was your superior, had much more experience than you, and held that self-assuredness that only came with time. As you told him small nothings about your past, you felt a tug to cherish this time, felt the need to memorize him in this light.

This would not go further than tonight. Not that you did not want it to, but because you didn’t think he would be interested in someone so young, so new to the real world.

He finished his glass, the candle glimmering off of the half-empty bottle when he took your plate. You stood when he disappeared into the kitchen, smoothing the sides of your dress and tracing the chair’s pattern. It saddened you to leave so soon, finding it almost impossible to hide your dampened mood when Charlie returned.

“So, I uh,” you cleared your throat and brushed your fingers over your upper arms, Charlie strolling closer, “This was really nice. Thank you for the meal, and for inviting me. I enjoyed myself.”

“I’m glad,” he purred, now so close you had to look up at him. “Do you want to stay over?”

That feeling from before gripped you like a vice – your chest tight, throat thick, breath shallow. Light fingers skimmed up your arms, a raging heat finding your cheeks just as your heartrate skyrocketed. You soon realized that you were right: he _did_ want you in ways you couldn’t comprehend. Not yet. Not at this point.

Charlie, his fingers leading into strong hands that tilted your head back, glanced between your eyes. You offered him your silent permission and nearly melted into him when his lips met yours. Maybe you shouldn’t have let it happen, but it felt so _good_. He knew what he was doing, moving with you, his thumbs caressing your temples as each slow kiss became deeper and more wanton.

Massive, capable hands rubbed into your shoulders, reaching lower with each pass. And when he couldn’t reach with his mouth to yours, his lips took residence in the crook of your neck. He sucked at the skin there, tongue massaging over any area his teeth teased. You felt like your chest would explode, like you’d faint from your brain buzzing into static.

Nobody had ever, _ever_ touched you this way. And you did not know what was coming over you when you leaned into his physical requests to come closer, to skim his touch below your tailbone, to press harder against his body while he pawed into the flesh of your ass.

All you could do was hold onto him, not knowing how to handle this situation. You wanted it to happen. There was no one else you had ever known that you would rather share this first experience with. Charlie was handsome, intelligent, and passionate. He was so much of the person you pictured yourself with, but it never occurred to you that it could be real. That he would want the same thing.

“Charlie,” you gasped, hesitant hands gripped onto his shirt with no idea what to do.

“Mm, that’s a yes?” His tone sank into you, each word together yet separate, one thick breath warming the question onto your neck.

He pushed his pelvis into you and you felt it. Felt _him_. His erection was thick in his trousers, the bulge unexpected and shocking. Your fingers splayed against his abdomen, slightly pushing at him to try and keep him away long enough to tell him the truth. Masterful hands slid up your spine so he could find the zipper hanging from your dress.

“Charlie, stop,” you panted, hands firmer now, fear trickling into taut veins.

And he did just that, leaned away from you but dawdled his fingers at your waist. Worry wrought his face, jaw drawn tight when he peered down to you.

“Did I do something?” Concern edged his confusion.

It was a funny question, because he had. He’d done a lot. Very fast. In the absence of his machinations, this pause altogether clarifying and intimidating, you missed the satisfaction he’d been providing through them. So you knew _you_ wanted this, but what stuttered your heart and weighed on your tongue was whether he would want you the same when he learned of your inexperience.

“I’ve… I don’t know how to say this other than outright _saying_ it,” flames lit over your chest, licking up your neck and scorching your cheeks. “And I do want to do _this_. I do. You- you’re,” you sputtered, a sly smile lifting his cheek, “I find you very attractive,” Charlie leaned in closer, his hands spreading open over your hips, dipping into the flesh there and faltering your voice, “but I have to be honest and say that I’m a…” Every ounce of courage left you when it came time to finally say it.

“You’re _a_ …”

By his tone, you knew he was aware, and that simple fact made it so you could not speak above the very breath of a whisper. “I’ve never been with anyone. Not intimately, not like this.” You flexed your jaw, trying your hardest not to pass out under his sultry, sighing eyes. “No one’s ever, ever touched me. Like this. Before. Ever.” You heard the hitch in his throat, saw the excitement that danced in his eyes just as you breathed, “I’m a virgin.”

In the scant light you watched his pupils pool and felt a rush of heat waft from his body to yours. He was not breathing, his throat bobbing once when he swallowed what might have been a groan. The hands stationed at your hips wandered upward, Charlie’s attention on the swell of your breasts.

“You said you want to do this?” he rumbled, gaze flicking back to yours.

The air had stilled, under the steady weight of his eyes you found your mind swirling around every way this could go, the prominent pulse between your legs growing so powerful you were unsure if he could feel it. Words had left you, and when his brow ticked the slightest measure higher, a ragged breath slackened your jaw and all you could do was nod.

Charlie hummed from the depths of his chest, gravel vibrating against your skin. His hold diminished until all he held of you was one trembling, terrified hand.

“Do you touch yourself? When you’re alone?”

A silent _no_ , your bottom lip quivering.

The hinge of his jaw fluttered, a nod of understanding, a darkness claiming his eyes. Low and restrained, he wondered aloud, “You’ve never cum before, have you?”

Your eyes went to the floor, shame steamrolling you, your posture wilting. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want you. Why would he? You didn’t know how-

Two fingers tipped your chin up, your eyes wide and mouth pouted. Charlie appeared enamored, something just beyond his eyes laying a claim on you. The pad of his thumb caught your bottom lip, and when you swallowed beneath his touch, his eyes fluttered for a second, rolled back into his skull and returned with pure, raw need.

He kept quiet while he led you further into his apartment, his hand firm to yours until you entered his bedroom. It was furnished with dark woods and neutral fabrics, a cream comforter with navy sheets fitted to the sprawl of his king bed. A smart canopy frame expanded on the ceiling’s height, its dark stain complementing the surrounding light grey. A cushioned bench sat at the foot of his bed. All that lit the room was a warm-toned oil diffuser and the light of a bright moon muted only by sheer, gossamer curtains.

Your heart hammered away, tears threatening from stress and a feeling that left you so, so small. There was a sense of expectation on your shoulders, the knowledge that this was a defining moment, a bitterness in how naïve you felt. Young, and unskilled, and inadequate.

Charlie must have seen you crumbling because when you went to bow out, he leaned down to kiss you, tender and claiming, a hand pushing back hair from your face. He broke away, only for a moment, his tongue wetting his lips. He captured your focus and tugged slightly at your dress’s zipper. _Permission_.

“Ye-yes,” you shivered, eyes twisting shut to shield you from the reality that you would soon be naked in front of a man, a beautiful man who would bed you.

His full lips kissed the hinge of your jaw, the heat of his heavy hand gliding down your back in contrast to the cool air clinging to your newly bare skin. “Keep your eyes on me,” your name was a soft command on his breath.

You were _shaking_ , unsure of everything, knowing that you were safe while also feeling utterly afraid of what was to come. His touch was fluid, fiery palms slipping your dress over your shoulders and leaving heated paths in their wake. Goosebumps ignited at the chill of the room when you stood before him with nothing but your plain undergarments.

The tips of his fingers prodded the soft flesh of your hips, trailing up your torso and down your arms. He never looked away from your eyes, the soft light of his diffuser casting him in delicate shadows, command still heavy in his gaze.

“Gorgeous,” Charlie murmured, “so beautiful for me. _Only_ for me.” He took your hands and brought them up to his chest. “Take my shirt off.”

You wet your lips, fingertips dipping and pulling at the small fasteners, nerves fraying the lower you got, abdomen tightening when Charlie groaned at the feel of your gentle touch gracing the small pudge of flesh just above his pelvis. When you caught view of the light spray of hairs that trailed below his naval, your eyes ventured lower and saw the strain in his pants had grown from what you’d earlier felt.

“Oh,” you gasped, eyes shooting to his, hands freezing in place. “I don’t- I’m _so_ sorry,” you pleaded.

Charlie, whose head had tilted back in your time away from his eyes, caught your fleeing hands and stilled you. He looked at you with pleasure-hazed eyes; it made you realize that what you’d done was good, his reaction was _good_.

“Don’t apologize. You’re doing everything exactly right,” he drawled. “Continue.”

When you separated the final button, you began to see the effects of your touch. You slid your hands into the waistline of his pants, feeling his soft, heated skin tense under your touch; his shirt hooked to your thumbs and soon you had it pulled out and hanging from him. His breath had become thick, intent punctuating his gaze when you looked up at him with your hands splayed across his abdomen.

“You want me t-to take it _off_ , off? Right?” It embarrassed you, for this man – who obviously knew what he was doing, knew what he wanted – to see you fumble through this should-be self-explanatory act.

“Yes,” he purred your name, “all the way off. So it’s at my feet with your dress.” He stepped closer, his fingertips teasing your shoulder blades, passing over your bra band. “So I can drop this—” he plucked one clasp open “—on top of it.”

“Okay,” you gulped, the reminder of your approaching nakedness petrifying your chest with new, burning fear. “Okay, Charlie.”

“Mm, keep saying my name.” A second clasp popped open, straps slipping just slightly down your shoulders.

“Charlie,” you stated, hands gliding over the pliant muscle of his chest. His eyes closed, hips slightly canting toward yours. “Charlie,” you spoke again, but this time with more purpose, a lewd tone trickling into the word and unsticking from your throat. The pads of your thumbs rubbed the soft skin behind his ears before slowly sloping down to the scorching skin over his shoulders. “Oh, Charlie,” you tested, happy when his lips parted at the taunt, your hands leading his shirt down his arms. “ _Charlie_.”

The final hook of your bra unclasped and he tugged it down your arms as you pulled his shirt free. The two articles met the floor at the same time, Charlie’s eyes open again to admire your bare breasts, to see your nipples pebble the longer he gaped at them. A white-hot inferno claimed the skin over your neck, this moment becoming more nerve-racking the longer it went on.

“You’ll touch them for me.”

Breath abandoned you. “ _Really_?” you rasped, throat tighter than ever before.

“Yes. Feel how you feel.”

“Why can’t- why won’t you do it? Yourse-self?”

Charlie’s lip quirked for a second, his own hands working to remove his belt. “I will. Later. I want you to know what I’ll be feeling.”

_Later_. Again, that strange, deep anticipation bubbled in your belly. You’d become so focused on the undressing that you’d forgotten what it was leading to. Charlie would be the first man, the _only_ man, to take the weight of your chest in his hands, to feel the swell of your breasts against him. You caught the moan the thought had incited.

You glared at the floor, hesitance biting into your hands the nearer they drew to your chest, but Charlie tutted your attention back to him.

The base of your breasts molded to your cupped hands, and though you’d felt them countless times before, with your touch carrying the intent to pleasure another, your skin chilled with your grasp.

When you squeezed, thumbs rolling on top of your nipples, Charlie moaned again, one of his hands grasping at the bulge in his trousers that just seemed to keep growing. By the look on his face, the neediness escaping his tone, it seemed it had become more aching than pleasurable.

He _wanted_ you, saw the way your tits looked as your fingers pressed into them, watched you whimper and gasp when passing over the sensitive peaks at their centers. Charlie Barber – palming himself through his clothing, his jaw practically on the floor – wanted _you_.

“Is this what you want, Charlie?”

In a fluid moment he held you to him, a hand at the base of your spine while the other cupped your own over your breast. A new, rough pressure teased your nipple, the friction of his thumb drawing a mewl. The lush tissue of Charlie’s lip tread the line of your jaw, the tip of his tongue trailing along until he could mouth at your earlobe. His breath was lustful, glimpses of hidden moans peeking out when you worked up the courage to touch him back; you brushed through his thick hair in a timid nature, hearing him sigh from satisfaction when you had to pull him nearer to kiss his clavicle. It forced you to be flush against him, his own inferno igniting yours anew when he released your breast and melded your bare bodies together.

Strong legs turned you and guided you back, your knees first hitting the bench, but soon lifted above so you fell into the caress of his mattress. The frozen sheets felt nice against your back, but Charlie welded the iron heat of his body to your front, his massive size anchoring you beneath him. Long fingers smoothed your hair back, his tongue laving over yours, catching moans that refused to be suppressed.

He left too soon, kissing down your middle until he met the base of your sternum. A greedy whine sounded when he knelt back on the bench and surveyed your heaving frame. Awkward hands wandered over his comforter, not knowing what to do, wanting somewhere to go – _searching_ for someone to occupy them. 

He pawed at the flesh of your inner thighs, sliding down and parting your knees. That black, looming dread suffocated you again. The time was growing closer, and you stiffened before him, finding it increasingly difficult not to watch the drag of his hand over his engorged length. Charlie watched your failed attempts grow in number, expression shifting into one of taunting mirth, a measure of condescension in the frame of his eyes.

“Look at it,” he said, “as much as your body is mine right now, mine is yours.”

Your head flew back, too nervous to listen to him. It felt foreign and impolite, the ceiling a savior in this moment.

Out of sight, Charlie grumbled, and you felt him crawl over you again. You peered down at him the moment he curved his hand to the base of one breast and kissed into you. Pleasure faltered into a broken sigh, the sight so entrancing. The broad palm of his hand supported you so he could suck the skin there, kissing deeper and closer to your nipple, watching you with lust-drunk eyes. His free hand claimed one of your own, snaking up your arm and guiding it to his head.

When you massaged his scalp, Charlie hummed in delight, climbing onto his elbows and nuzzling into your chest. He tongued your nipple, flicking at it before he flattened his tongue and laved friction into you. You liked how his nose was slightly buried into the top of your breast, how the motion seemed intentional when he smelled your skin.

You couldn’t stand not having his mouth on yours, watching him suckle and tease while something new sprouted in the depths of your belly, something that catalyzed your need for him. When he hummed his eyes closed, one hand sprawling over your belly, you rushed to grasp at his face and force his lips to yours.

He entertained your venture, letting you kiss him, permitting your hands total reign over him, fingers laying claim over his ears, and neck, and shoulders; you shuddered at the feel of his back shifting and tightening at the brush of your hands. Charlie slid a finger along the top of your panties, but it was not alarm that sounded at his invasion, but instead need. Want. Carnal desperation for something you barely understood. All you knew was the fact that the pressure of his slow, curious fingers sharpened your awareness of the quickening throb between your legs.

With your weight shifted to your elbows, Charlie retreated again, keeping his hold on your panties when your arms stretched for him until he was too far.

He swallowed, lips fuller than before, chest blushing deeper. He pinned you with his gaze. “Watch me,” he rasped. “I want you to know what you do to me.”

You worried your bottom lip, taking a second to absorb the shocks he’d just sent through you. And, when your attention flitted below his waist, his hands fixed to undo the button and zipper, you realized that it was all you wanted. To see how big he was, to learn what he wanted you to – _to see what you do to him_. You nodded without finding his eyes, holding your breath when Charlie skimmed his thumbs over his hip bones and into the waist of his pants.

He knelt on the bench and slowly, savoringly, watching your every reaction, pushed his trousers past the strained fabric, and let them and his boxers collect around his thighs. Charlie had groaned when the elastic shifted over his shaft, but the sound had been lost to you as your pulse thrummed in your ears, chest feeling like it would explode when the flushed pillar of thick, veined, _structured_ flesh sprang up and bobbed to stand nearly parallel to his abdomen.

A moan parted your lips, saliva spilling at the sight of him; his length jerked at the sound, which elicited another of the same nature, only needier, pitched with desperation. Charlie led a flat hand along the underside of his shaft, taking all but two fingers away and rubbing over the ridge of his tip. A growl rolled off of him, your bones singing with its frequency.

“I couldn’t tell you how often I’ve fucked my hand because of you.” Charlie formed a circle with his thumb, middle, and index finger and canted into it down to the middle of his shaft. “Since that first week, since you pushed my hair back that first time. I’ve only thought of how good your pussy would feel taking my cock.” Pleasure rippled out of his throat, Charlie’s head rolling against his shoulders. “I have to force myself to concentrate when you’re around, because all I can think about is filling you up and leaving you breathless and swollen for hours on end.”

“ _Charlie_ ,” you whined, head buzzing, mind high on his words.

Charlie, unhanding his cock, appearing almost pained at the absence of friction, leaned down and grasped the waist of your panties. His knuckles grazed over your hips as your last covering left you at your most vulnerable. His eyes hungered for yours, your body; every sprawled inch of yourself a feast solely for his taking.

He slipped the thin article past your ankles, your shoes falling off in the process. He did not immediately discard them, instead gathering them into his fist and staring you down as he brought them to his nose and inhaled like he’d been starved for air. Charlie’s eyelids fluttered shut, his fist getting tighter, a faint snarl sounding from his chest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned, long and throaty, “you smell like heaven.”

You pushed back the hair that’d fallen over his eyes, thumbing at his temple when he kissed just above your naval, and then to one hip bone, peppered across to the other, and finally shot you a glance that could only be described as possessive. Predatory. Animalistic.

“What are you doing?” you gasped, anxiety trilling your heart. He snaked his hands under and over your thighs, fingers gripped into you so hard you couldn’t shift an inch. “ _Charlie_ , what- why are you-,”

His tongue laved over one of your folds, licking up to your mound. Charlie watched shock tumble out by way of your aghast expression, how your mouth gaped at his audacity, the fire in your eyes he’d kindled now blazing to life with the pressure of his tongue. A stifled, nervous mewl left when he smirked into the apex of your thighs.

“You’ll enjoy it,” he sighed, blowing cool air over the bud of nerves just millimeters from his lips. More whimpers came, magma shivers erupting from your spine and emblazoning every inch of skin. “You’re so wet for me, little girl.” Charlie mirrored his actions on your opposite fold and followed it up by burying his nose into the supple tissue of your mound. “ _Mm_ , I’m going to make you cum on my face, and then I’ll take you,” he closed his eyes, inhaling, growling against you, “and I’ll try and go easy on this virgin pussy.” Charlie locked you in a penetrating stare, arms reinforcing your position, “but I cannot guarantee that.”

He was serious, so serious it made you shudder, lit a flame in your belly that only grew when he lowered his jaw and kissed that bundle of nerves, sucked it into his mouth, and showed you a whole new world of sensation.

Charlie, in a sniper’s position, locking your legs still, watched pleasure tear into you, saw it in your face that you’d never known something so powerful resided between your legs. Your hands flung to his hair, digging into his scalp and treading through the moon-drenched locks.

“Ch-ch-chchchch- _charlie_!” you cried, bracing yourself on the bed. Without thinking, your pelvis tilted downward, wanting more pressure from his mouth, a violent ache pulsing with a need you’d never experienced. What towered between his legs would push into you, the thought rushing through your head when you imagined this feeling _sated_. Sated by him, fulfilled by every inch of the heavy cock he’d said was _for you_.

Charlie devoured you, humming in content and melding his mouth so fluidly to you it felt better than anything you’d ever experienced. When the pleasure became too much, when you teetered on the edge of every bit of towering ecstasy – head thrown back, hands fisted, back arched, pelvis taut with sensation – Charlie pushed a single digit into your clenched cunt and stroked back and forth.

“Call my name out when you cum, little girl,” he commanded. “Scream it out like the slut I’ll make of you.”

Back, and forth.

“Oh, shit,” you gasped.

Back and _forth_.

“F-fuck, fuck. _Fuck_.”

_Back, and forth._

“Charlie, I’m- _I’m_ , oh God! _Mmph_!”

The pressure of his tongue gliding over your stiffened bud, and the fiery, rapturous feel of him working some sensitive spot in your core brought the pressure in your body to a hilt, built on it until you trembled – body and soul – and conquered every part of you until everything you knew up to that moment _snapped_.

The moan which formed his name carried an immeasurable amount of lust, praising him like he’d just resurrected you, strings of nonsense falling from a slackened jaw while you writhed beneath him. Had he not kept your legs straight, surely you would have battered him with them.

Warmth crowded your abdomen, Charlie’s weight pressing into you before he kissed your mouth with the taste of your cunt still fresh on his tongue. He pushed up on his elbows, eyes brimming with revere, awe residing in the ebony that crowded his irises. Remiss hands skated over his back, his beauty flooding your body with adoration. You brought your hands to his front, first kneading into his chest, then leading them up so your digits stormed the sweat-stuck curls at his nape and thumbs stroked the tips of his ears, flushed and heated just like the entirety of your body.

He hummed, lingering a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “Mm, told you you’d enjoy it.”

Under his gaze, feeling cherished in the highest sense, you could have stayed in this bliss forever, this haze of clarity that granted you a wish you’d never been aware of. But then you remembered, and though it had diminished, that earlier fear stuck in your throat and tightened your jaw.

“Charlie,” you winced, now achingly aware of the weight of his erection.

“Shh,” he kissed, “you’re nervous, that’s all.” Charlie braced his hands on either side of your head, his breath warming your face, his eyes steady on yours.

“I don’t understand any of this,” you whispered, clasping onto his wrists, panic swallowing you as he readied himself. “I’m terrified.”

“I’m not,” he breathed, “and you will understand. Soon.”

Charlie peeked between your bodies for a moment, and then you felt the head of his cock slip into your slit, his shaft passing between your drenched folds and over that chorusing bundle of nerves. You gritted your teeth, a whine betraying your fear that much further. Intimidation held a vice grip on your nerves, eyes screwed shut until Charlie kissed you back to his attention and murmured your name.

“It will hurt less if you relax. Eyes up, on me.”

Once more, the only way you could respond was by the nod of your head. His brow ticked up. Only when you released the breath you’d been holding, relaxed your jaw, and stopped biting crescents into his arms, did Charlie move even a single muscle.

The head of his cock found the dip of your entrance, Charlie’s eyes narrowed, his chin dipped, and he shifted forward. The small thrust suggested the sting that would only grow deeper, a wince slipping past your teeth. Charlie canted a second time, this one fuller and longer, anxiety singeing your lungs. His eyes rolled back, the notch in his throat bobbing, his breath stalling.

Charlie shifted out of you, not enough to exit completely, and proceeded to fill you until every thick, throbbing inch of his cock was sheathed in your tight, dripping pussy. You grimaced, but he stilled his hips for a moment, watching you and savoring the feel of your walls pulsing against his shaft. The pain faded into a small ache, and when he began moving – slow, paced – you felt the foundations of pleasure capture your nerves.

“Charlie,” you gasped, taking your hands and cupping his face. “Charlie, you feel so good. God, you feel amazing.” You really couldn’t believe it, and you brought his lips to your own in celebration.

It spurred him on, a growl resonating from his throat to yours, his thrusts coming quicker to match his breath. When his length would pull out almost completely, you were always surprised by how full you felt with every inch of him buried in you,, ecstasy pummeling your sweet spot the harder he fucked you.

The bed rocked with your bodies, your legs lifting from the bed and clasping around his back, arms hugging his neck while you slid your tongue over his and hiccupped satisfaction into his slackened jaw. He began to groan, the depths of his chest rumbling, a new ferocity igniting when he snarled in your ear.

“Touch yourself, make yourself cum on my cock.”

At first you wanted to refuse, but then you remembered how his tongue had delivered your first climax, and you tried your best to mimic its fluid pressure. Charlie quickened his pace, and when you added the patterned push-pull traces of your fingertips you felt an all-encompassing fire bloom in your core, spread to and stiffen your legs, and mushroom up until all you knew was the sensation of pure, body-quaking bliss. It swallowed you whole, tore through the sinew of your tissues and drenched the very depths of your marrow in unbridled euphoria. 

A loud, ragged, blaring moan left Charlie when he tore his cock from your fluttering core and jerked himself until hot, slippery gobs of substance collected over your breasts and belly. He milked more and more spend from his shaft, groaning, head and jaw slack, brow pinched. Charlie sat back on his heels, his cock slipping from his hand as he looked at you with a heaving chest and heavy-lidded eyes.

With grace he shifted his body back over yours and kissed you, his lips communicating an immense amount of passion, gratitude, and praise without him saying a single word. He pulled away, surveyed how his cum had collected over your chest, and kissed your forehead.

“I’ll be back. Stay still.”

His voice had never sounded so fond, yet still commanding, while at the same time gentle. It made your heart glow, and – pathetically, perhaps – you missed him when he fell from view, the sound of running water coming from across the hall.

Charlie’s absence allowed you a moment to take in all that had just happened, how the pressure to perform was gone and the fear you’d entered this room with had disappeared along the way. You did feel different, like time could no longer taunt you with this right of passage, like you were now in on the secret that nobody could ever quite tell you in words.

The sink cut off and your face angled toward the door, but something caught the corner of your vision. A glimmer, the moon glinting off of something gold on the very edge of your periphery. Charlie’s steps encroached on the door, and that’s when you saw it.

A wedding band. Simple. Plain. Sitting on the corner of his bedside table.

Charlie reentered the room, but all you could focus on was the pit ripping through your gut. You couldn’t stop staring at it, wondering what poor woman you’d just betrayed, trying to recount any time you’d ever gotten a good enough look at his hands to remember if there had ever been a ring on _any_ of his fingers, let alone the _important_ one.

“We’re separated,” he said, voice stern and steady. He padded over to you, still nude, but cleaner than he’d left you. He cleared his throat.

You sat up, doused in shame, wanting to hear him out yet feeling disgusting all the same. “What’s her name?”

A towel, damp it appeared, was held in his clasped hands. Charlie wore a serious expression, the soft light of the diffuser wrapping his muscled body in warm tones.

“Nicole,” he said, more hanging in the air when he paused. “We have a son, Henry. The two of them are in California with her family while we work things out.” His face fell to the floor. “For now, at least.”

“How do you work on a marriage when you’re not in the same state? Or even the same time zone?”

A sad, disheartened smile never touched his eyes. “I’m flying out next week.”

A twinge in your chest. “Oh,” you swallowed. “For how long?”

“I don’t know,” your name had never sounded so empty from his lips than it did now.

“I don’t mean to be intrusive. I apologize.”

He took you in and sighed. “I didn’t mean to seem like I was hiding it. I try to keep my personal life private.”

Charlie lifted the towel as a means of permission. You nodded and watched as he cleaned his fluids from you, smoothing the towel – soft and warm – into your skin and washing away any evidence he’d ever touched you. Delicate in nature, his hand trailed the towel, and when he finished, he looked at you with guarded yearning.

The towel discarded to the floor, and he leaned down and kissed you, huge hands framing your face, wanton lips finding yours over and over again.

You indulged him – _and yourself_ – but quickly pushed him away, only enough so his mouth left yours. You swallowed, considering what you wanted and what he’d told you. “Separated?” Charlie nodded. “And when you say _work things out_ …”

“Divorce specifics, custody, assets. Not trying to make _things work_.”

Well. He wasn’t _trying_ to be married. And he was here, and so were you. _For now_.

You sighed, a hand sifting through endless tresses of thick, black hair. “Yes.” Charlie cocked his head. You smiled, grabbing onto his neck and rolling him on top of you. “Yes, Charlie,” you purred, “I want to stay over.” You crooned in his ear, “I want to wake up next to your old ass self.”

Charlie smirked against your cheek, nestling his nose against yours before he drawled, “Of course you do,” he kissed you rough, shocked you with his tongue and left you needing more, “because now you know I can make you cum harder than anyone else.”

“That _would_ mean something if I’d been with anyone else.”

“Trust me, it would _still_ mean something if you’d slept with every person in this city.”

“Mm, you talk a big game,” you whispered against his mouth, “I’ll need some more proof. C’mon, Charlie, I want to be that slut you talked about. _Your_ slut.”

He chuckled. “The little virgin isn’t so scared now, is she?” Charlie placed one last, longing kiss to your lips, and slid the covers over the two of you, his chest flush to your back. “We’ll continue your training in the morning.”

You couldn’t resist, lacing your fingers with his over your waist. “Sleep well, old man.”

He laughed, his lips pressing to the nape of your neck. “Probably not better than you, little slut.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I really just got the urge to write this out of the blue. And then I thought on it for a couple days. And now it is here forever. If you enjoyed, please let me know with a kudos or comment, or message me on my [blog](https://strongtwiheart.tumblr.com) (:
> 
> \-- ST


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